


Suddenly

by spasticat



Category: Being Human, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasticat/pseuds/spasticat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon needed a break, so did Mitchell. Set vaguely in the middle of S1 TVD and S2 BH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suddenly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scy/gifts).



Damon always just appears. No preamble. No warning or head's up. He's just there and whatever events were rolling into play are put on hold until Damon is gone. The world seems to know this. Mitchell certainly does as he licks at the blood on his lips.

Blood always does it. It undoes him. Mitchell can control and extoll such control until the cows come home. But when blood comes into play, really comes into play...he's undone.

Is it his? Is it Damon's? Does it matter? At some point all the blood of tonight will be commingled and any attempt to discern who is shorter of a pint or two will be moot. Both will be sated and exhausted and will rinse and repeat until it's time for Damon to head back to the States.

At some point they'll be off to a local pub. Preferably dark. And a head will be down, lips on the other's wrist, sucking deep of blood. That'll be Mitchell. His control thinned but discretion preventing others from seeing. Damon will be drinking deep of a local brew. His lips on a cool glass, the ale equally cool going down his throat. A knowing smile. So what if Mitchell's using him, Damon doesn't mind. He's using him just as much. All that guilt and supposed control that Mitchell has? Provides for the hottest, most violent sex that Damon's known in decades.

The Mitchell of yore was hot...this repressed Mitchell is hotter. Damon would never go for abstinence but he's all for his partner to shore up that guilt and desire and release it night after night.

Damon needed a break and the minute Mitchell opened the door to his flat it was obvious Mitchell needed one, too. George didn't realize he needed a break until he came down the stairs and saw Damon standing in the doorway; leather jacket, grin, and a bag slung over his shoulder.

"Great, absolutely great. We've still to clean out the bloodstains from the tiles in the bathroom from the last time you were here."

"Nice to see you, too, George." Damon tosses his bag to George who catches it and looks at it not quite believing that yet again he's assumed the role of personal valet.

"What," George asks as he throws the bag back to Damon, "Brings you to bucolic Bristol? The weather? The theatre? The haute couture? No, wait, it's to torture the peasantry. How considerate of you."

With a smile and a closing of personal space Damon sidles up to George, "You always know how to make me feel welcome."

Mitchell finally decides it's time to intervene, "Come on you two, enough. George, you have to be somewhere, right?" Mitchell is exaggeratedly looking towards the door.

"Why," George asks as he angrily pulls on his coat, "Do I indulge you in this? Please, tell me?" His ire lessened by the fact that he can't find an arm-hole in his coat. Damon pulls at a sleeve, much as a parent would for a child, and George's ire increases ten-fold as he thrusts his arms through the proffered coat's sleeves.

"Um, thank you," George says as he mentally tries to figure out how to turn things around and bring the conversation back around to where he's the aggressor and Damon is the chastised one. Except, as usual Damon is giving him that look. The look that says George will never win and also that there never was a battle.

That never stops George from trying.

Mitchell licks at his lips as the door closes. He's giving Damon the look that inspired this impromptu visit.

Damon smiles, "Now that the kids are away, whatever shall we adults do?" He asks as he sits down on the leather coach. He never liked this couch. It's too modern with its angles and the buttons always shoved into him in the oddest of places when he and Mitchell were...playing.

"I can think of a million and one things," Mitchell says as he sits down on the coffee table opposite of Damon, "Do you want to hear the million things or should we just go straight to the one?"

"Tease," Damon says as he extends his legs onto Mitchell's lap. Damon leans back and closes his eyes, "I'd say I'm jet-lagged but that's never stopped me before."

Mitchell pulls off Damon's shoes, "No, it hasn't."

"And you look wired enough for the both of us."

"You can say that." Mitchell dips his head slightly as he runs his hands up Damon's legs.

"Care to talk about what's got you all so riled up?"

"Other than you?"

"Yes."

Mitchell looks up, "No."

"Sounds good to me," Damon answers as he unzips his coat.


End file.
